Love: the enduring gift

Here is the text of the homily I prepared for the celebration of a funeral which took place earlier today: a gathering of faith in memory of a man of faith who tried every day to share the good news of salvation that he had come to believe.

Funeral homily for Leo Peter Mongeon

At the beginning of our lives in faith, we Christians are brought to the font.  Through the simple act of pouring water over our heads, a story of love begins to take shape.  This is a story of divine love, the love that is revealed between each of us and our God.  From that day onward, the story continues, complete with various chapters, challenges and successes until the day that our earthly journey is complete and we enter at last into the promised homeland of heaven.  Today, we are here to reflect for just a moment on the story of love that unfolded in the earthly life of our brother Leo, and we celebrate with him today as he enters into the glory promised by Jesus to all his faithful disciples.

Saint John reminds us today that Jesus instructed his disciples to listen to his words, to listen very closely and to take them to heart: whoever listens to my words, and believes in the one who sent me, has eternal life (Jn 5:24).  In his younger years, Leo learned how to listen for the words of Jesus.  Throughout his life, he tried his very best to listen for them because Jesus’ words brought comfort when he was facing times of trial and because Jesus’ words speak of the promise of eternal life, a life that involves no pain, no sorrow and no suffering.

In his lifetime, Leo knew his share of happiness.  He found this happiness in the life of his son, and in the cherished relationship he shared with his siblings, but he also knew his share of suffering and pain.  Can anyone who has not had to face such pain even begin to imagine how difficult it is for a parent to endure the death of a child?  What questions must Leo have asked of God at that time?  What questions must he have asked of himself?  It is said that identical twins have a kind of sixth sense which allows them to have a special bond that connects them.  They are able to share experiences in a way that no two other people can.  Leo had such an experience with his brother too, and then had to stand by and watch as he too was taken out of this world.  If identical twins share such a profound bond in this life, how did Richard’s death influence Leo?  All these questions and more, he would have brought in prayer to God.  Understandably, he may have been tempted to feel cheated, and yet he himself said that he was not mad at God. 

I have no doubt that Leo found some consolation in the words spoken by Saint Paul to the early Christian community at Corinth: I tell you something that has been a secret: we will not all die, but we will all be changed … in the twinkling of an eye (1 Cor 15:51).  The story of love that begins at the baptismal font carries with it the reward of eternal life.  Therefore, what the world refers to as death, the final ending to our lives, we Christians believe to be nothing more than a change in the why that our lives are lived. 

For a certain number of years, we live among mortals: we learn how to dream dreams, how to build relationships, how to love as we ourselves have been loved, and how to make ourselves vulnerable in order to come closer to others who share our journey through life … and when our earthly journey is complete, we look forward to the banquet that awaits us in heaven.  Leo is seated now at that table, reunited with his parents, his brother and his son.  Seated there, he waits for us, calling out to us in great joy and celebration: see, this is our God, in whom we hoped for salvation; the Lord is the one in whom we hoped (Is 25:9).

Dear friends, Leo’s journey is now complete, but our journey continues.  It is up to us to take these words to heart, to see in them an invitation to continue our own journey of faith, and to exult and rejoice even now in the knowledge that our God has saved us (cf Is 25:9).